


Two Plus Two Makes

by shihadchick



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: M/M, not-so-secret virgins
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-14
Updated: 2015-05-14
Packaged: 2018-03-30 12:18:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3936508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shihadchick/pseuds/shihadchick
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Moving in with Ebs is kind of like going off to college, Taylor thinks. There's figuring out how to feed themselves and keep the place clean and do laundry and, oh, right, that thing where Taylor kind of wants to kiss him. That's not like anything Taylor's done before either.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Two Plus Two Makes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [misspamela](https://archiveofourown.org/users/misspamela/gifts).



> Set in Hallsy and Ebs' first season up with the Oilers; originally written for MissP over on LJ and tidied up a little since then. <3

Moving in with Ebs is kind of like going off to college, Taylor figures. Like, first they have to figure out who's getting which room, and where they're going to put their stuff. And if their stuff is mostly just work-out clothes and DVDs and a metric shit tonne of Oilers-branded gear that the team has sent them, well, so be it. Taylor left his Playstation 3 at his parents' place, but it's not like he can't buy a new one or an X-Box or whatever; his signing bonus is good for pretty much everything he might need.

Him and Ebs go out and get furniture together, and they muddle their way through grocery shopping, and okay, they fuck that one up, but they're at least not going to make that mistake twice.

They might make some new ones, though.

The first night they get to settle down at home on the couch with video games and the dinner they ordered in, off the plates they bought, and it really feels like home? That's kind of an awesome day. Living with Ebs is just as easy as Taylor was hoping it would be; they've been friends forever or so it seems like, and it's still fun. 

And, obviously, it's not like Taylor doesn't know that Ebs is babying him a little, just a bit. He can actually do his own laundry, probably, but he's not going to bitch if Ebs keeps doing most of it for him. He tries to empty the dishwasher a little more regularly to make up for it, and he lets Ebs pick teams first when they play NHL 11, too. 

Arguably, their place is a lot cleaner - grocery shopping fuck-ups aside - than most college dorms would be, Taylor figures, but that's because they can afford to pay people to come in and clean when they're on the road. It's pretty sweet.

There's probably fewer posters of random bands or half-naked people on the walls, but that's got more to do with the documentary guys who follow them around occasionally than anything else; there's only so much Taylor really feels like sharing with probably the entirety of Canada. He might not be the brightest guy around, but he's not dumb. People pay even more attention to them now; anything he shares isn't going away any time soon. 

The underage drinking is probably a college thing too, Taylor figures, though at least the drinking age in Alberta means he's not stuck only drinking at people's houses for as long as he would've been even in any other province, let alone if he'd gone to Boston.

Taylor's really fucking glad he didn't go to Boston.

He wants to be an Oiler, he wants to be in Canada, he's so fucking stoked on being there with Ebs that sometimes he doesn't really know what to do with himself.

So he figures they'll just keep on going like they have been; having ice cream the nights before games (it's not ice cream for dinner, but it's close enough, and it's not like he's going to fuck up his routines or diet or workouts just to pretend he's more of a kid than he really is), and hanging out and talking and laughing a lot. Taylor laughs more around Ebs than he does around basically anyone else, even the guys on the team and they're pretty funny. Okay, a lot of the time they're making fun of him, but Taylor can handle that; it's not like this is his first time being the rookie.

The thing is, though, Taylor's also not dumb enough to not put two and two together to figure out what all of that means. He's had a stupid crush on Ebs on and off since they were teenagers; keeping it at the back of his mind because if he focuses on it too much things will get weird, and that's the last thing Taylor wants. So sometimes he notices a little too much about what Ebs looks like with no shirt on, whatever, it's not like he's going to do anything about that. He's pretty sure Ebs used to look back, sometimes, but he hasn't for a while and Taylor's fine with that. People grow up. And being friends with Ebs is the best part of a lot of things, he doesn't want to lose that.

It's not like he's going to turn down hooking up with anyone else, either; pining for someone you can't have seems really stupid, and Taylor would rather have orgasms, thanks. He's not all that picky.

Or at least, he's not super picky. 

Horc gave him a talk after the front office first decided that him and Ebs were both staying up, all about how Edmonton might be a big city but it's still kind of a small town and people talk. It was awkward as fuck and the only thing which made it better was seeing how red Ebs was after he got out of his own little chat with their captain. Taylor had met Ebs' eyes and they'd both giggled uncomfortably and then bee-lined for their separate ends of the dressing room. It had been another one of those weird bonding moments.

The thing is, though, Taylor's just going along assuming he's going to meet someone eventually and probably hook up at a bar or something, and maybe bring them home or maybe go back to their place. That's what everyone does, right?

So Ebs is going totally off script when he sits down next to Taylor on the couch one day early on in the season, right before they're headed downtown to meet Gibby and Gags and Cogs, at what Cogs claims is a 'raging bar' and Taylor suspects will probably be somewhere with a cover charge and exactly the same shitty DJ music as the bars he snuck into with the other Spitfires back when he was in Junior.

"Hey, Hallsy," Ebs says, picking at the smooth leather of his recliner and not making eye contact. "Uh, if you want to, you know. Bring someone home, you can, right?"

"Um," Taylor says, because he wasn't expecting that at all, and he's not sure what Ebs wants him to say. "Thanks? And, um, you too?"

"Cool," Ebs says, looking like he'd rather be anywhere else. "I guess, um. I don't know how much noise-- or privacy, or if you, uh. Just let me know if you want me to go home with Gags or something, right?" Ebs is going pink around the ears, and Taylor's definitely staring. He's getting away with it, though, because Ebs is also still staring down at his own lap.

"Sure," Taylor says slowly, because okay, privacy, sure, but he's not sure exactly what Ebs is getting at. Unless it's been more obvious that he thought when he's jerked off at night. He's pretty quiet, though, and if he thinks he's not going to be able to be, he bites his own hand or rolls over and muffles himself in the pillow. He doesn't leave any of that laundry for Ebs, though. "You can't, um-" 

Great, now Taylor's blushing. How dumb is it that he can't talk to Ebs about this? He makes jerk-off jokes in the locker room all the time, but it's weirder and a hundred times more fraught when it's just the two of them at home. "I'm pretty quiet," he adds after a second, when it's clear Ebs is waiting for something else. "But if you want me to fuck off if you find a nice girl or something, just, I don't know, do that eyebrow thing?"

This time Ebs looks at him. "What eyebrow thing?"

Taylor shrugs helplessly. "I don't know, you do this eyebrow thing. Shut up, man, you know what I mean. I'm cool with whatever you want to do."

"It's not like- Whatever, we're going to be late." Ebs gets up, and heads over to the door, so Taylor grabs his wallet and follows, nagged by the impression that he's missed something.

"You should, you know," Ebs says a couple hours later - yells, really, right into Taylor's ear, barely audible over the music, his face lit by alternating strobes in three different colours. Taylor's had more than enough to drink to find it kind of confusing, and he closes his eyes for a minute to make it easier to pay attention to what Ebs is trying to tell him. He leans in a little more, too.

"What?" Taylor yells, and then he loses his balance a little and knocks his chin into Ebs's shoulder. 

Something's wrong with that, Taylor thinks absently, and after a few more seconds thought, he realises that his chin shouldn't be anywhere near Ebs' shoulder; Ebs is way shorter than him.

"Get laid," Ebs says, a little quieter now that his mouth is so close to Taylor's ear. 

It's nice, and his breath is warm. Taylor leans in a little harder and slumps more; his weight distributing evenly between Ebs beside him and the wall behind them both. The wall deserves at least three stars; Taylor's had a couple more whiskey and ryes than he maybe should have, and leaning is about all he's good for right then. He squints one eye open to check and yep, Ebs is still right there. That's all right, then.

"Why?" Taylor asks. It seems like a sensible question. 

Ebs leans back into him, and Taylor has to flail an arm out to grab the wall so they don't both go toppling over. Okay, that's embarrassing, he's supposed to have excellent balance, thank-you-very-much.

"Because," Ebs says, which isn't even an answer. What is he, five?

"You're not getting laid," Taylor points out, proud of himself for working out the obvious.

"I'm taking a break from relationships," Ebs says, which sounds way too careful to be something he hasn't practiced saying sober.

Taylor shrugs. "So just go fuck someone, you don't have to call them after."

"Right, when was the last time you had a successful one night stand?" Ebs asks, and Taylor doesn't even need better lighting to tell Ebs is rolling his eyes.

"Um," Taylor says, and starts kicking himself mentally, both for getting drunk enough to get into this conversation, and also for being such a shitty, shitty liar. He's trying to get the words 'a while ago' out, but he just can't do it. It's not like Ebs won't know he's full of shit, anyway. "I haven't?"

"...oh," Ebs says. "So it's been a while, then?" 

Ebs' face is doing that weird thing again, and it makes Taylor feel actually queasy, even though he's not nearly drunk enough to have to worry about puking. If there was one thing he learned after the second Memorial Cup, it was how to figure out exactly how drunk he could get without crossing that line. 

"Hey," Taylor says, straightening up with an effort. "I think the guys are leaving, we should do that too."

"Huh," Ebs says, but he follows Taylor towards the door, thumb curled into the belt loop on the side of Taylor's jeans closest to him, making sure not to lose him in the crowd.

Ebs is really cuddly in the taxi on the way home, and Taylor probably shouldn't enjoy that as much as he does. He's not made of stone, though, and Ebs has always been a handsy drunk. Maybe not so much lately; Taylor has some intensely bittersweet memories from after their last World Juniors game, he'd almost persuaded himself that Ebs was flirting with him that time. Mostly they'd been busy getting systematically trashed, though, trying to drown out the disappointment of silver medals.

By the time they get to their door, Taylor's feeling a lot steadier. He's going to sleep like the fucking dead, sure, and he's going to drink like five glasses of water first, so at least he'll wake up in time tomorrow morning when he has to pee, but he doesn't think he's even going to have a headache in the morning. He's congratulating himself for that right up until he drags Ebs inside and Ebs leans into him again and licks his neck.

"Whoa, buddy," Taylor says, wishing he could pretend to be drunker for a minute, at least, and just go along with it. "Hey, it's just me, Ebby."

"I know," Ebs says, sighing heavily into the side of Taylor's t-shirt. "It seemed like a good idea."

"Uh-huh," Taylor says, walking Ebs into his bedroom and nudging him over towards his bed. Ebs is probably going to be super hungover tomorrow. Maybe Taylor should leave him a bucket? "How long's it been since you hooked up, huh?"

"I haven't," Ebs says, and then adds, "fuck, I didn't mean to say that."

"Yeah," Taylor says, trying to make a joke and leaning over to grab the edge of the covers to pull them up for Ebs. Trying to help him take his jeans off seems like a bad idea right now. "I know, man, you've been a monk this year."

Ebs snickers and Taylor hopes it's not obvious how much that warms him to hear. "Totally," he agrees, and then he's lying down on his side, looking up at Taylor. "I always thought it'd be you."

"What?" Taylor just barely manages not to squeak. Drunk logic. Ebs has to be using drunk logic. To mean something that he can't figure out at all, jeez.

"I figured we'd, you know. Fuck around eventually. It's always the wrong time. And I never, I haven't with anyone else. You know."

Taylor sits down heavily on the side of Ebs' bed, and almost without thinking he's reaching over, his fingers closing around Ebs' wrist, holding him tight. He can feel Ebs' pulse jump under his fingertips, and Ebs is looking up at him, totally serious for all that he's clearly not even remotely sober. 

"I- are you hitting on me?"

"You're so bad at this," Ebs groans. "I couldn't tell if you were still interested or if we're just friends now."

"Still interested," Taylor says, staring at Ebs. 

Shit, he hadn't thought- he wouldn't have expected Ebs would still be into this. He always figured they just weren't going to talk about those times they'd almost made out, or the way they'd always wound up touching more than the rest of their teammates. He'd figured it was just that they were roommates now, and that would be enough.

"I mean, it's not like I- I wasn't waiting for you or anything," Ebs says. "I've just been busy."

"Uh huh," Taylor says, trying not to grin too obviously. He's so chirping Ebs about this later. When he's not drunk.

"Shut up," Ebs says, squirming madly to try and kick Taylor and mostly only succeeding in totally fucking up his sheets. "It's not like you slept with anyone yet either."

Okay, so Ebs has a point. Whatever.

"I've been pretty busy," Taylor says, still grinning. "I mean, I don't know about you, but I got drafted first overall--" 

"Oh, shut up," Ebs groans again. "But seriously. You wanna?"

"Yeah," Taylor says, not laughing now. Because he does. "Not now, though."

"Nope," Ebs says. "Later, though. Def'nitely." He nudges his toe against Taylor's back -- against Taylor's ass -- pointedly. "You should sleep with me tonight, though."

"You'll snore," Taylor pouts, because he's shared rooms with drunk guys often enough to know that, and it's not like he doesn't have a perfectly good room of his own right now. 

"I'll jerk you off in the morning, though," Ebs says, "If you want," and Taylor should probably be ashamed of how quickly he kicks his shoes off and curls up next to Ebs, wriggling down under the covers.

"Sounds good," he says around a yawn, and then, "hey, want to make out?" 

"Fuck yes," Ebs says determinedly, and presses his mouth to Taylor's. 

It's sloppy and a little off-center, and Ebs might not've actually slept with anyone yet, but he's definitely made out with people before. Taylor thinks they probably should've just said the hell with it and done this a lot sooner. It's still a really awesome kiss. Taylor slings an arm low around Ebs' hips and scrunches up the back of his t-shirt in a tight grip, holding him close. 

"We're so doing this a lot more," Taylor promises, letting his knuckles graze the bare skin of Ebs' back where his shirt's riding up now.

"Yup," Ebs says, and then yawns. That's enough to set Taylor off, too, so he just wriggles closer, shamelessly stealing half of Ebs' pillow and closing his eyes again. They've got a lot of time to learn all this.


End file.
